


Innocent Traditions

by Arithanas



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Père Fouettard - Freeform, Saint Nicholas myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raoul discovered the Christmastide traditions and he was more than willing to participate, to Athos’ chagrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innocent Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umeko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/gifts).



> _Ô grand Saint Nicolas,_   
>  _Patron des écoliers,_   
>  _Apporte-moi des pommes_   
>  _Dans mon petit panier._   
>  _Je serai toujours sage_   
>  _Comme une petite image._   
>  _J'apprendrai mes leçons_   
>  _Pour avoir des bonbons._

All started with Charlot who tell Raoul and Blaisois the story of Saint Nicholas de Myre, as a cautionary tale to keep them from wandering in the woods once snow and night had fallen.

Athos had nothing to object to that new knowledge; Raoul certainly needed a cautionary tale to renounce his inherent wanderlust. Athos sometimes wondered from were such particularity came to the boy. People in Athos’ family were pretty content by staying in their own lands and avoiding all sort of trouble.

Then, Raoul shared his knew knowledge with the kids in the _château de Blois_. The children of the local nobility filled Raoul’s ears with tales of candies, treats and magical donkeys that walk in the snow without leaving any track in its wake. Of course, Raoul was not aware of those details, the children reassured Raoul: Saint Nicholas only visited kids who were taking lessons.

November turned December and Athos noticed the angelic behavior in his ward. Raoul was more than obedient, almost deferential; there were none of his usual childish and petty tantrums and his chores were fulfilled with martial punctuality. That behavior was so unnatural that Athos was bracing against the announcement of a new ailment of the sort that plagued men in their first years.

Then, one evening, Raoul came to him with a question who took the Count completely unaware.

“Please repeat me that question, Raoul,” Athos asked, putting his book away. The question sounded so preposterous that Athos was sure he heard it wrong.

“How do I weave a basket, please?” Raoul asked, and his voices leaved no space for any doubts. The Viscount required information in all seriousness.

As a minimum, that question put Athos in an awkward spot, for he had no answer to give. There was not a time in his life where the need had arisen to know how to weave a basket. Such things naturally appeared in the castle without his intervention or consent.

“May I hear, Viscount, to what ends are you inquiring such?” The question was a pretty transparent way to gain time.

“I need a basket,” Raoul said, his hands neatly folded behind his back. “Saint Nicholas’ ass will be hungry and it needs to visit many children!”

Athos was sure his stunned expression was the most comical thing Raoul had seen in his life, because the kid was really struggling to keep his expression neutral. Athos shook his head and offered Raoul his footstool.

“Sit, Raoul, and explain it all again,” Athos demanded and prepare for being schooled into this new childish whim.

Raoul was happy to please, but Athos learned it was a mistake within the first set of sentences, there was so much lore children memorize in order to get some sweets. The fantasy of the weightless donkey and the many visits between December the fifth and December the sixth was really too much to chew, but Raoul believe it and Athos decided there was no need to taint it with reality. Children are young only for a brief time.

“You don’t need to weave a basket, Raoul,” Athos finally said, his head spinning with all the details. “You can ask Charlot’s wife for a basket.”

“There is none…”

“Now, Raoul, be sensible. I’m sure she will have at least one to spare.”

“They are all so small.”

“And you care for the donkey, I know…” Raoul made an uneasy movement with his shoulders at that assertion. “Did I understand wrong, Viscount?”

“That’s not the reason…”

Athos had been having a hard time trying to adapt to these new peculiarities, but the reason came down by its own weight: a bigger basket meant more hay; more hay equaled more candy. Children could be amazingly egotistical sometimes.

“Alas, Viscount!” Athos tried hard not to laugh at Raoul’s thwarted attempt to rig the game in his favor, “I’m afraid you must abide by what’s available.”

Raoul pouted and sulked but issued his thanks with enough politeness before marching with spirited step toward the kitchen.

“I wonder which new fantasy will seize his brain next time,” Athos said to the empty room before picking up his book.

There was not a worry in his head. One of the first things Athos learned when he started this senseless route called parenthood was kids demanded sweet things on the most trifling excuses and, sometimes, without any excuse at all. The cupboard in his cabinet was well-stocked for such contingencies.

The book was pretty entertaining but not enough to make him miss the moment when Raoul appeared with a huge basket in his arms which Athos recognized as one of the baskets Charlot used to pick ripe fruit form the orchard. No, there was never a doubt in Athos’ mind: the Viscount lacked not in ambition.

“If you are going out, Raoul,” Athos said good-naturedly, “don’t forget your cape.”

“No, _M. le Count_!” Raoul replied obediently and soon the piece of fabric flapped when Raoul opened the front door and the autumn wind rushed inside the castle.

For a moment, Athos bemoaned Christmas tide was only once every year. This well-behaved Raoul was of his liking and suited him pretty well.

The pages were his only distraction now and Athos was grateful. This old book about taming colts was most illustrative and his mind was wondering to open fields in summer. The image was so powerful that Athos even felt less the cold of this old castle, for that very reason the gust of wind that knocked down Raoul’s massive basket and let that cruel chill in spooked him.

“Pa!” Raoul came running and calling out for him.

Before Athos could steel himself against the incoming little body, Raoul clambered to his lap and hugged him with the desperation of a soldier running from front lines.

“What is it, Raoul?”

“Père Fouettard!” Raoul cried before he buried his face on Athos’ doublet. Suddenly, Raoul was two years younger and scared blind.

It took a good deal of patience and some time, but Athos learned that Saint Nicholas wasn’t traveling alone—“besides the donkey,” Raoul pointed out the third time Athos repeated the story— but with an evil man dressed in black who hit bad children with a bundle of sticks and twigs.

“Jesus Christ…” Athos almost uttered a curse; this complicated fantasy was filled with details, “give me patience! And what’s the trouble, Raoul?”

“I wasn’t a good boy all year long!”

“You were tolerable,” Athos tried to comfort Raoul, but reassurance was not his forte. “Anyway, who tell you such a barbaric thing?”

“Grimaud!” The child cried his eyes out, because there were only two sources of true in his life and one of them had sentenced him to be punished. “Père Fouettard will hit me!”

Athos sighed and placed his hand on Raoul’s nape; there was little he could do to reassure the kid until the morning. On the other hand, Athos was not sure if Raoul was excited by Saint Nicholas visit anymore, but certain mute Breton will certainly get the visit of an evil man armed with sticks, so help him God.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Christmas and my best wishes for 2016.


End file.
